doesnotkneel: (pb: broody)
Edward woke up to the sound of screaming.

In a rush he dragged his breeches on and hopped out of the room with his shirt unbuttoned, still pulling his boots on over bare feet. He knew that scream. It was his mother. Moments later her screams had died down to a sob, replaced by his father’s cursing. The soft cursing of a man who had been proved correct.

After Edward's fight at the Auld Shillelagh he had returned inside the tavern in order to do something about his cuts and bruises. To numb the pain, so to speak. What better way of doing that than with a drink or two? Thus, when he’d eventually arrived home he’d been in a bit of a state. By which he meant “state,” as in a man who looked as though he’d been in the wars — which he had, with bruises to his face and his neck, and his clothes ragged and torn. But also “state,” as in a man who had had far too much to drink.

The Silence of the Lambs, 18th century edition. )

[[ nfb, nfi, taken and adapted from the novelization of Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag. mentions of animal cruelty and death under the cut. ]]
doesnotkneel: (pb: buh wah bed)
Edward hadn't been in the best of moods these past few days, since Isabelle's bizarre and insulting display at the beach had set his pride off on an angry tangent. Gone were the grins and the laughter-- he'd been all frustration and glares for a bit now. But by Wednesday, it was starting to fade - somewhat, and with the aid of yet another upsurge of his childhood sight.

It had been playing up more of late, since at least the carnival, if not the months before that. And it wasn't that he was unused to it, just... it had a tendency to be a relic of his dreams, a bit of leftover strangeness that left him smelling and hearing and watching better for a short while after waking. Now, though, it was starting to come up more often... and it was turning out to be more than simply an annoyance.

In evidence: Edward, sitting on his bed with his chalkboard in his hands. A skittering of something across the floor. His gaze, turning that way and catching the tail end of something his senses tagged as wrong, red. Except it wasn't just the tail... it was all of it, crawling up from its initial position by the doorway, trying to hide behind walls and furniture as it crept up on him. He could follow its movements the entire way, by sound and by... something else, he wasn't certain.

A loud thud, and the creature came falling straight out of the ceiling on top of Edward's bed-- but he was no longer there. Instincts combined with the sight sent him rolling off it, turning and lashing out...

... punted the bloody gremlin straight out the window.

"What in--" Edward said, staring at said window. He blinked once, twice, and then the reality of what had just occurred settled. "... That was amazing."

If he did say so himself.

(Outside, the gremlin landed relatively peacefully in the leaves of a tree, fired off a few curses, and shook his little fist at Edward's window. Vengeance would be his.)

[[ creaked door, open post! ]]

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